Routine
by Sinister Tomato
Summary: These meetings were simply mere coincidences. The world was small, after all. Royai. MustangxHawkeye


Disclaimer: I don't own Hagaren in any way nor do I want to.

A/N: This idea came from someone I was talking to on the bus. This is the shortest thing I've written in a long time. Maybe I should try considering other pairings...This one-shot contains Royai (Mustang/Hawkeye).

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It was a routine of theirs, to meet on the streets occasionally and converse politely. These were just coincidences. Just two colleagues meeting each other under regular, nonworking-related circumstances. The world was small, after all.

Even tonight, their ritual of habit was no different. It was another of those coincidental nights. They greeted each other and conversed politely as they walked on. The woman spoke about mundane things such as the weather and his constant habit of shirking work. The man intoned about equally mundane things such as military reports and his trigger-happy lieutenant.

As usual, they walked through the nearly empty streets and into a small, cozy café. He ordered a mug of black coffee while she settled for a glass of water. They sat in silence, he barely touching the lavender mug set before him, and she sipping her clear liquid. They avoided each other's gazes, his obsidian eyes tracing the dotted ceiling and her auburn eyes set on the edge of her cup.

As their routine continued, the man stood up and pushed his chair back, offering dinner, his treat. The woman agreed with a curt nod and without protest, paid for their drinks. A few minutes more of silent walking later and they came to the front of a small restaurant. The waiter, immediately recognizing the man, directed them to a table beside the window. The man settled for a bowl of assorted vegetable stew and the woman decided on a fruit salad.

Silence reigned over the couple as they waited for their food, both having no appetite in the first place. He, not at all enjoying the silence, seemed to decide to regal the woman with short stories of his childhood. As the young woman laughed and flipped back a few strands of dandelion blonde hair with a long, slender finger, the man smiled, continuing on with a more exaggerated flare, strictly for his companion's benefit, of course. He'd never be caught dead with the kinds of wild gesticulations he was making.

On a particular part concerning the weather, she just had to mention the one important factor he never considered before charging head on into a fight in a rainstorm. His spark gloves were utterly useless in the rain and damp weather in general. It would take another way to create a heated flame.

He visibly face-faulted mockingly at the Lieutenant's observation as he ran long, pale fingers through contrasting raven hair, indicating that the playful jibe was just a pinprick of pain on his pride. Besides, it boosted his spirits up quickly knowing that he didn't have to rely on his affinity at all. It was just his preference and a force of habit.

It was the same way with her gun, he reminded her. She didn't really need to rely on it completely. It was just convenient for her to, and it was also her own force of habit. Coincidentally, she happened to have her issued gun beside her hidden in her holster under the coat, because she was once again at the shooting range, "blowing holes through innocent pieces of paper", he liked to call it.

The woman snorted lightly at this remark and leaned over teasingly to retort, simply by saying that his choice of weaponry involved hundreds of cooking methods including fry, flambé, grill, roast, and a host of others. He only shrugged, relenting this round to her.

Their food arrived in the midst of their conversation about weaponry. Abruptly, the exchange of words between them stopped as she crunched quietly on her salad while he slurped lightly on his soup. The awkward silence returned, but this time they had an excuse to keep their mouths shut.

After dinner, they bid their goodbyes and went their separate ways. Another night of this routine had ended. The man heavily walked down to the more crowded district of Central to his apartment as the woman walked with a slightly more graceful poise in her steps to a less crowded, but more homely district.

Both left their usual questions unasked and unanswered. There would be another time to ask, another time to answer. They were waiting for an appropriate moment. These days, dealing with numerous goals, possible conspiracies, legends, and things along the lines of "possible fatalities" would hardly provide an appropriate moment. Time is, after all, of the essence.

They knew all this, and took it into account. That was why they concluded separately, yet thoughtfully, that waiting was not a bad idea. The least they wanted to do was bring more matters to deal with into the open, let alone personal matters. So, they waited.

Although, all was not lost, for they still had their occasional routines to remind them what and who they were doing all this for, regardless of how much this process seemed to hurt.

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A/N: Review, if you don't mind. I like to know what people think. Constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated.


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